


First Hand Accounts of the Unwitting Transmutations of the Staff of the Magnus Archives

by CeladonWanderer, Hyperfocus, OneLonelyGhost



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Moth Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Nymph!Sasha, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spider Martin, Tags May Change, The Beholding Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), The Corruption Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), The Web Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), Transformation, s2 gang woooo, the extreme and heavy use of headcanons, wtf gay little archives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28624956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeladonWanderer/pseuds/CeladonWanderer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperfocus/pseuds/Hyperfocus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneLonelyGhost/pseuds/OneLonelyGhost
Summary: Follow Jon, Martin, Tim, and Sasha as everyone tests the bonds of workplace relationships by getting brand new cryptid forms as the result of a certain twisted series of events detailed within.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker/Sasha James/Not!Sasha
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	1. The Atlas Moth

“Look, Tim, this is all very sudden and I think we should be trying to fix things before we just sit around and record-”

“Martin. As much as I hate to say it, the documentation might help us if we.. I don’t know! Just do it, please. As a favor or something.”

“Fine.” 

Statement of Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, concerning the newfound state of Jonathan Sims. Statement recorded direct from subject, October 10th, 2016. 

Statement begins.

So, I suppose I should start at the very moment I left the Archive Friday night. We were- Tim, Sasha, and I were going to clock out a bit early, at Jon’s insistence. Honestly I should have seen the signs then, should have looked at his skin and the way his teeth were stretching his jaw in a way that if I had only looked closer…maybe I could’ve-

“Martin, focus.”

Sorry, anyways, we all left and Sasha went wherever she goes nowadays, Tim went to get on the tube as usual, and I started my usual walk back to the flat. This is another thing that evaded me: the moths. They were everywhere that day, clinging onto the streetlamps and tangling themselves in my jacket’s hood every time I got my phone out to check the time or to quickly answer a text, their dusty velvet wings brushing lightly on my skin. Another thing I just let go of, because really, It was just moths. I should have been paying more attention, seeing the patterns they had. I remember now, in my peripheral vision, the fractal patterns in their wings. 

So I got to my flat and did the usual ritual: dinner, shower, bed. The weekend passed easily enough; what really got this whole thing going was Monday. It’s almost comical, really: the stereotype that Mondays are the worst finally coming to fruition. 

Sound transcript: A tight small laugh comes from the speaker.

So we all clocked in. Sasha was there first, of course, like she always is, and Tim followed soon after I got there. We all got our beverages: Tea for Tim and I, and coffee for Sasha. I made sure to make some for Jon, ensuring it was how he liked it. So here we have this picture: myself, tea in hand, Tim, likewise, and Sasha all walking down to the archive. I remember vividly reaching for the archive door and hearing the strangest sound I’ve ever heard in my life. It was like sheets rustling, the crunch of plastic as if fed through a shredder, and a strange, well, chirp, reverberating through the empty archive. 

As soon as I put my foot down to step into the archive, I heard a similar sickening crunch. I looked down, Tim trying desperately to look over my shoulder, and saw- 

“Those scales, right?” 

Yes, Tim, the damn scales. They littered the ground, a strangely beautiful dusty amber color, and they seemed to stick to everything. My clothes, my skin, the bookshelves, the tapes, everything. We all barged in, and I set to finding the source of all the damn sound as quickly as possible. 

Sound transcript: Speaker gulps, hiccups once, and then regains control of himself. 

We- we didn’t have to look for long, since I checked the offices first. The chirping grew louder as I ventured into Jon’s office, as well as the other accompanying sounds, but as soon as my foot fell upon the ground of the office the crunching and the chirping stopped short, although the rustling remained. But, I thought to myself, where’s Jon? Shouldn’t he be here at this ungodly hour, droning on? His coat was there, and his chair hadn’t been pushed in as though he had never left- and he hadn’t. I looked around the entire office, casting my eyes over every surface from my vantage point in front of his desk. Then, of course, since I’m a person who finishes what he starts, I made sure to check under the desk, and suddenly I saw two large, black staring eyes like static-filled TV screens filled with an ever shifting rainbow blinking up at me. I-

Sound transcript: Speaker stutters as he breathes deeply 

I saw Jon. Well, what he had become. Slowly eating a long strip of record tape. He had blinked up at me as what felt like an hour, but it was probably just a minute. After he squeaked in this… this most terrified and tiny voice. He was...so small. Maybe only a meter tall? A clear change from Friday, when we had left. 

“Martin?” As he suddenly dropped the tape, I heard Tim coming up from behind me. Jon’s eyes, somehow still perfectly fitted to his now miniature glasses, widened and he barrelled into me, sent me rolling, and opened up a brand new pair of velvety, eye-dappled wings to fly up and above me, careening into the shelves outside of his office. 

I couldn’t believe my eyes, really. Tim was gawping, his jaw nearly on the ground, Sasha was nowhere to be seen, and Jon was attempting to pull himself together and get on top of the shelves. 

“Jon?” I said, clear confusion in my voice. He balked, a new pair of arms fidgeting with his old ones. I had never seen him that scared in my life. He seemed so unsure of what to do, like a teenager who’s just woken up from a growth spurt, or a de-growth spurt I guess? A shrinkage?

“Martin, help- I don’t know what to do!” This was a change, for sure. Jon always, always knew what to do before this. It was the thing that scared me first, honestly. Slightly- adorable -height changes, elegant dusty wings, et cetera were nothing to me at this point, but seeing him so unsure was the first thing that really struck a chord in the symphony of my confusion-addled brain. 

Sound transcript: A muffled chirp from outside the door right as the speaker’s companion snickers. 

Quiet. I managed to coax him down, promising we wouldn’t hurt him. Tim was of course no help, seeing how he and Jon had been getting into rows the last couple of days before Friday. And that’s how we got...here. Everything is relatively stable, but I don’t know what will happen if anyone else sees him, or what happened to him. He still won’t tell. His behavior has changed, as well. He’s more- well, I hate to describe it as affectionate, but that’s what it is. Like a cat. Even his chirps. He’s still “old Jon”, but with...differences. Besides the physical ones. 

Er, statement ends. 

Sound transcript: Door creaks open, tape clicks.   
  


“Martin? Erm….” Jon steps in again and the height difference is all too clear. His eyes shift slightly to look more blown up as he silently steps over, close to me. “You were recording a statement on all of this, weren’t you.” He raises a feathery eyebrow. 

“Well, yes. Tim insisted, and I figured you’d like it, seeing how much you like the archive and the recordings and such.” I deftly lift the tape away before he can clamp his jaws around it, the new compulsion only bearing one casualty so far. I plan to keep it that way.

He nods curtly and sits on the desk, barely acknowledging the lifting away of the tape. More scales from his wings skid across the desk as he folds his wings up, making them look like a sort of stylish cape. All in all, it’s not the worst situation. 

I have to restrain myself, I remind myself with a small twitch of the wings. Few scales floating off. God, those are itchy.

“Good. I do think that recording this should help.” Really, the mundaneness of the recording is helping a lot, like this is just a regular work day. Oh, look, Jon’s a moth with four arms now, let’s record a statement and get on with it. The height, I’ll admit, is what’s getting to me. I feel like a toddler. I huff, give up and move over to lay on Martin, his presence comfortably big and warm. 

“Uh. Maybe we should continue work?” He asks, clearly uneasy. Perhaps, I think, but wouldn’t that constitute moving? And if you move, I will not be able to rest upon you? Clearly this cannot transpire. The other bit of my brain, the sensible bit, goes ‘what the fuck’ at these proceedings. 

I just huff at these thoughts and Martin’s warmth lulls me into a calm state, the rushing of his iron-rich blood calming in my ears.

He’s- he’s fallen asleep on me?! I’m reeling at this new development. This is so radically unlike Jon that I’m starting to think that whatever happened to him, it was done by something extremely powerful, whatever that may be. My eyebrows scrunch in annoyance as I realize that I can’t talk to him about it now that he’s asleep (and being a lot heavier than he looks, for crying out loud).

I honestly don’t know what to do with all of this physical affection, and it’s kind of freaking me out, so I do hope he gets better soon. I get up, trying to keep the section of my torso that he’s on perfectly still so I can move without waking him up.

It’s incredibly difficult to get out of the office door, and I can feel Tim’s eyes on me as I exit. He smirks and I scowl, silent communication of the coworker kind going on between us. Elias decides to show himself, coming down silently from wherever the hell Elias is when he’s not in our fields of vision.

“Tim, do you know of the whereabouts of Jon and Mar-” he looks… genuinely surprised as he looks over and sees the moth clinging to the edge of my sweater. “Ahem. Right. Do wake Jon. I need to speak with him now,” he growls as he quickly walks off to his office.I pale, the blood draining from my face. 

“Er, Jon?” I give one of his antennae a little poke. “Jon? Elias wants to see you, I think?” He stirs, giving off another one of those- involuntary, I’m starting to realize- little chirps. His face scrunches up. 

“Elias? Really? I never would have guessed. Let’s go.” His tone is horrifyingly sarcastic, and I expect nothing less from him. Perhaps he’s not quite as gone as I think. 

“So, should I…walk..or can you…?” Tim laughs silently behind us as Jon slides down from where I’ve been holding him to the ground with utmost grace. 

“Let’s go, Martin.” 


	2. I am the Moth Bitch

"Martin? Erm…." Jon steps in again and the height difference is all too clear. His eyes shift slightly to look more blown up as he silently steps over, close to me. “You were recording a statement on all of this, weren’t you.” He raises a feathery eyebrow. 

“Well, yes. Tim insisted, and I figured you’d like it, seeing how much you like the archive and the recordings and such.” I deftly lift the tape away before he can clamp his jaws around it, the new compulsion only bearing one casualty so far. I plan to keep it that way. He nods curtly and sits on the desk, barely acknowledging the lifting away of the tape. More scales from his wings skid across the desk as he folds his wings up, making them look like a sort of stylish cape. All in all, it’s not the worst situation. 

I have to restrain myself, I remind myself with a small twitch of the wings. Few scales floating off. God, those are itchy.

"Good. I do think that recording this should help." Really, the mundaneness of the recording is helping a lot, like this is just a regular work day. Oh, look, Jon’s a moth with four arms now, let’s record a statement and get on with it. The height, I’ll admit, is what’s getting to me. I feel like a toddler. I huff, give up and move over to lay on Martin, his presence comfortably big and warm. "Uh. Maybe we should continue work?" He asks, clearly uneasy. Perhaps, I think, but wouldn’t that constitute moving? And if you move, I will not be able to rest upon you? Clearly this cannot transpire. The other bit of my brain, the sensible bit, goes ‘what the fuck’ at these proceedings. 

I just huff at these thoughts and Martin's warmth lulls me into a calm state, the rushing of his iron-rich blood calming in my ears.

He’s- he’s fallen asleep on me?! I’m reeling at this new development. This is so radically unlike Jon that I’m starting to think that whatever happened to him, it was done by something extremely powerful, whatever that may be. My eyebrows scrunch in annoyance as I realize that I can’t talk to him about it now that he’s asleep (and being a lot heavier than he looks, for crying out loud). I honestly don’t know what to do with all of this physical affection, and it’s kind of freaking me out, so I do hope he gets better soon. I get up, trying to keep the section of my torso that he’s on perfectly still so I can move without waking him up. It’s incredibly difficult to get out of the office door, and I can feel Tim’s eyes on me as I exit. He smirks and I scowl, silent communication of the coworker kind going on between us. Elias decides to show himself, coming down silently from wherever the hell Elias is when he’s not in our fields of vision. "Tim, do you know of the whereabouts of Jon and Mar-" he looks… genuinely surprised as he looks over and sees the moth clinging to the edge of my sweater. "Ahem. Right. Do wake Jon. I need to speak with him now,” he growls as he quickly walks off to his office.I pale, the blood draining from my face. 

“Er, Jon?” I give one of his antennae a little poke. “Jon? Elias wants to see you, I think?” He stirs, giving off another one of those- involuntary, I’m starting to realize- little chirps. His face scrunches up. 

“Elias? Really? I never would have guessed. Let’s go.” His tone is horrifyingly sarcastic, and I expect nothing less from him. Perhaps he’s not quite as gone as I think. 

“So, should I...walk..or can you…?” Tim laughs silently behind us as Jon slides down from where I’ve been holding him to the ground with utmost grace. 

“Let’s go, Martin.” 


	3. Blue Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiders. Well, one large one. Content warning this chapter for a semi-detailed description of a panic attack.v

I tap my fingers lightly as I wait. Certainly a new development. Not unwelcome, but certainly not expected or even useful in any way. The fact that it wasn’t expected worries me. I should have seen this coming. Hmmm. This seriously would stunt his development as the Archivist. Speak of the devil… The door clicks open. 

This is bollocks, plain, and simple. First I wake up after what I think is a horrifying “nightmare” only to find I have shrunk to the size of a toddler and my extra mass is devoted to making me look monstrous, and now this. 

"Ah, Jon. Do come in. Martin, you may wait outside as we discuss this new development."

“I won’t. I’m going to stay with him, because I don’t know what you’re going to do to him and I do not trust you, plain and simple.” I look up to him, slightly awed.

"Martin. That wasn’t a question. Wait outside." He growls again as he straightens his already impeccable collar. Martin’s eyes glaze over and he walks out, shaking slightly with futile resistance. This infuriates me. How dare he just sit there like the pompous old bastard he is and compel Martin like that? A hiss escapes my mouth as I fly up to sit in the chair, wings draping behind me. 

"Do calm down Jon. Now, however, did this happen?" He speaks so infuriatingly calmly. 

My mouth, rebelling against me, fills with sharp teeth as tiny claws spring from my fingertips. 

“Calm down? Calm down?! How can I calm down! I’m the size of a three-year-old and- oh what the hell are these?!” I facepalm briefly. “I do remember what happened, but who says I’ll tell you?” He huffs.

"Jon. This is important to understand exactly what happened to you. Now. How did this happen?" 

I slam my hand onto the table, creating a worrying sound. Whatever. 

“Fine. I’ll tell you what happened. I was in the Archive, recording a statement of this woman.” 

"Ah yes. Helen. I am aware." 

“After she finished giving her statement, she left...but it wasn’t through my office door. It was through a different door that I hadn’t even noticed before, and I just let her go like it was nothing. After that...he showed up.” I feel sick at the thought of her fate. 

He looks concerned. "and what happened after?"

I’m feeling sicker and sicker, worse and worse, as I relive the experience. “He told me that the door hadn’t been there, and he laughed this horrible laugh as I was demanding to know where she went, and then he seemed to remember something. He said something like “Oh right, I forgot the little errand I had to do…” and then he put his hand on my shoulder. It felt like knives were touching me instead of just an oddly large hand- and then it started.” He nods, increasingly looking worried, which did not make things at all better. 

During this, outside, even more trouble was afoot. Martin’s brain was attempting to shake off the effects of the compulsion, beginning to feel a bit...woozy. Actually, as more time passed, extremely woozy, and suddenly there was that stabbing pain in his cheek that felt like an awl was being driven through it. Martin fell to the ground, clutching his cheek, as Tim shouted his name, unsure of what to do. 

Martin couldn't manage to even scream as the piercing and blinding pain encompassed his body in seconds. Tim stood there, stunned as he heard the horrifying cracks of bones breaking. Martin hissed quite literally as he opened his mouth in pain, blood freely flowed as his teeth sharpened and elongated. Thankfully Martin collapsed from the pain into a blissful blackout. Tim almost hurled as he saw the four new arms piercing the skin that fell off like dust. Blue fur lined his arms and back. Though, what was unseen by Tim at that moment, was that it lined Martin’s face as well, encircling his new eyes, eight in total.

"Sasha! Martin needs help," he managed to yell out weakly, suppressing the animalistic urge to scream at the top of his lungs and run like hell. 

"H..help..." Martin very weakly whispered after it was over. 

However, the soundproof door on Elias’s office prevented anyone inside from hearing this. Jon spoke, shaky yet determined in an odd way.

"The horrible feeling of slipping into my own mind, not on my own. Only pierced by what felt like my body collapsing and stretching like putty but the pain still being there. Oh, the pain was definitely there. But Elias, you have to understand. That was not the worst of it. Being aware of every single animalistic change to my own mind wasn't the worst, it was the not knowing what happens right after it all. The horrible blind confusion and pain, the twisting of seeing what my mind was turning into, mixed like- like ugh, what's the word, like.. like cement. Cement that hardened into this-” he gestures at his new form “-that was what happened. And that is all I am willing to share.” 

I sigh, the deluge of words coming from my mouth having stopped for now. 

“Right. Now, do not expect this to slow your work. Do figure this out,” he says with a truly awful capitalist smirk. I stand, not quite sure of what to make of Elias’ words, and exit at his direction. The tape that had been recording clicks along with the door behind me. 

I hear Tim’s voice as soon as I got out of Elias’ room. He’s babbling something about help coming soon and dancing about, uneasy and unsure of what to do. I follow his line of sight to see... _Martin._ Or what is left of him. As my eyes, trembling in their very sockets, look down to take it all in, I have to fight down the urge to run. The urge to run and not become prey for the spider laying next to my feet. He’s still _Martin-looking,_ but it’s like he’s covered in blue and green shifting haze and his sweater is shredded from the extra pairs of arms. Blood is pooled near his face, just as blue as whatever covers his arms. Against my best wishes, my hand reaches down to touch his, trying to see if he’s still alive, still warm...and as we touch, he jolts awake. 

I jolt of course, the touch alerting every single tiny hair on my body. My eyes fly open, every color now blinding. Every light piercing, every sense dialed up to 20. I hear a voice “Martin. Martin calm down, I am here.” it’s Jon, every bit of him, but oh so scared. His voice wavers. “Martin. What are five things you can focus on?” 

Right, I try to refocus. “The wall..” My voice comes out as multiple voices, stacking on one another. 

“Good.”

“A chair….” breathing slowly, I am able to slightly focus but my breath hitches as I realize what my voice is doing. My hands instinctively reach up to cover my mouth, and there I feel two softly furred yet sharp-tipped mandibles resting at the edges of my mouth. I start panicking again, placing my hands firm on the ground even as two still rest at my mouth.

“Martin.” Jon’s smooth yet sharp voice pierces my thoughts. “Breathe, Martin. Three more things you can see.” But I refuse to open my mouth, to hear that voice again. I just can’t. But with shaking hands, I feel Jon gently move them from my mouth. “Martin. You are here. You are ok. It is going to be ok.” He places a tiny yet heavy hand on mine, and with that grounding weight, I finally start to calm down. My breathing finally slows, I can move again, and I open my eyes- no, wait, that _hurts-_ and I open two of my eyes to see a very concerned little Jon. 

“Martin, are you hurt?” he speaks softly, with a waver in his voice. Am I? Everything feels so dialed up. I honestly do not know. I repeat as such in a lower voice, still layered. I hate it.

  
  
  


Martin….. Martin looks so _scared,_ but it’s not your regular run-of-the-mill fear, he looks so terrified and _disgusted_ of...himself. It’s almost like he’s trying to escape from his own body, his limbs twitching as they always do on the comedown from a panic attack. It is clear, says the moth brain, that he needs comfort. Well, when you put it that way. Slowly, as not to set him off reeling from watching me move, I take my hand away from his and fold him in a nice hug, wings and all. He jolts, clearly expecting some kind of attack, but gradually relaxes.

This feels...nice. It’s nice to be hugging Martin. I break a bit of a sweat as I realize that the fact that I feel like I’m doing something _right_ and good right now means that I am probably bisexual. This fact stews in my brain, cheerfully neutral. But also not quite right...I should do some research on this after everything is calmed down and I can reach the desk again while sitting on a desk chair. But for now, the comforting. I can still sense his fear with my new feathery antennae, but I can also sense his relief at not being cast out and at the pain of transformation ending. It’s the pheromones, you see.


	4. Wait? Oh Wørm?

This whole wings arrangement also makes for a shield against Tim, who is absolutely flabbergasted. Sasha runs up and stops in her tracks, blindsided. ...We should probably be getting back to the archive. I coax Martin up and walk him there. Once we’re in the archive, Tim decides to confront me. 

“Look, it’s not my fault they make tapes in a way that taste good to me.”

“You ate three tapes, Jon! We need to redo and we just don’t have the time!”

“I’ll record them again, it’s fine.”

“No it’s not! You're eating tapes, that's not normal!"

I raise a feathery moth eyebrow and gesture to myself, as if to say you think any of this is normal? Tim groans dramatically. 

"Ugh. Sasha, I'm so freaking glad that you, at least, ain't some kind of cryptid." Something like sweat beads on her forehead, but why? "Yeah. Sure. Look, maybe it's not a bad thing?" She points to Martin who is sorting files and placing them on shelves with all six arms, nervously performing easy, mindless work. 

"Sure, maybe for work! But how are we going to get them out safely?"

I answer, slightly indignant. "I'm still here. And bigger clothing might work." Martin appears to consider this for a second. 

“...bigger clothing how, exactly?” He still flinches at the sound of his own voice. 

I hum as I think. Look, I’m usually the one to solve these things. I just get info. Martin did have a point. He was larger before but now it may be impossible for him to cram into some sort of trenchcoat. Fuck. This was gonna be hard.

"Well. Maybe you both could stay here?" I suggest. Sasha nods, saying,

"Yeah. Martin was already staying here because of those worms."

Yeah. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say as both men flinch.

“The worms! I almost completely forgot about them..” Martin rubs his neck with his free top arm and breaks eye contact, nervous. “They...aren’t still dangerous, are they?” I narrow my eyes- all 6- at the question, wondering why he would ask such a thing or even think that the worms pose any threat at all. 

“Of course not. Prentiss is gone, so they’ve all buried into the earth and such. Honestly, Martin, are you feeling quite alright? You usually…” I think of a less insulting way to put this. “Observe the situation better than this.” This is still clearly the wrong thing to say as he turns away and covers his mouth with a hand, reflections turning his glasses opaque. 

“Of course, Jon, sorry about that.” Ah, he’s mad. Crap. I’d better figure out some way to make him feel at least a bit better...oh, his tea! He didn’t get the chance to have it after the...morning situation, so I quickly excuse myself to go over to the break area. Two cups sit there, both still lukewarm after I test them by poking the surfaces with a finger. Now, just to get my earl grey and Martin’s peppermint…

Lightly smelling each one to figure out which is which, I rack my brain for how he likes his and come up with two sugars and a dab of cream. Putting the mugs in the microwave, I wait patiently for the water to reheat and tried to grab the teabags. Stupid height. I settle on climbing to grab them and my admittedly tiny claws definitely help in the difficult climb. Crawling back down, I grab the hot mugs and mix everything in. There! Perfect teas. Very satisfied with myself, I flit on back to the main archives and present to Martin his tea. “Here, to make up for that...slip of the tongue.” 

He gladly takes the mug, but as soon as the fumes reach his nose he physically recoils, dropping the mug and quickly losing his balance to fall back into the bare wall and crumbling it under his weight with an enormous crash. I drop the mugs with another resounding crash as out from the walls comes an absolute deluge of worms.

Tim is the first to react, screaming “EXTINGUISHER!” and hauling himself off at breakneck speed as Sasha runs off with him, looking nauseated. I can’t move. I’m paralyzed, remembering the feeling of them burrowing into me and eating tunnels into my skin and- but there’s no pain. I should be wanting to lose my breakfast and scream, but they’re just...worms. ⁸Maggots, really, but they’re just flagellating about all confused. Even so, I scramble back, disgusted by the things still streaming out of the walls even though they don’t pose a threat. Martin gives a weak groan then a sharp cry of pain and I scramble to pull him up and out, dusting him off.

They are all over, get them off! I scramble, feeling Jon pulling at me with his oddly strong little limbs. My nerves are still screaming at me from the transformation and the worms far from help with the pain.

Tim thankfully comes running in brandishing a huge extinguisher and bathes the room in carbon dioxide as Sasha, with a board, helps Jon pull me the rest of the way out and attempts to seal the wall off. I just pull at both Jon and her, screaming at Tim "Follow me!" I try to run with them. Jon quickly stops me, however, placing himself directly in my path. "Martin! They aren't actively following!" Looking back I quickly see he’s right.

"oh." I respond, confused as to why they aren’t and also as to why they haven’t been fumigated out yet. Are they breeding? They must be breeding, especially if there are this many, which means that they must have something or someone new controlling them. Of course, this is worrying, but there are bigger and more dangerous forces at play here than just another worm person who can be driven to the other side easily with a machete and a fire extinguisher. Panting in the hallway that leads down to the archive, everyone besides Tim takes a breather, and the man himself comes out to announce that hey, it’s alright, just a wall full. He’s killed all of them, and now we all just have to wait for the damn fumigators. 

I go to check on Jon, who’s shaking and twitching a bit. He swallows hard when he sees me, bursting into a deluge of apologies for the worms and the tea, which is apparently poisonous to spiders and he’d forgotten. I, in response, inform him that it’s quite alright and that there was no harm done (to myself, that is. The wall is a different story however..). I bend down to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and he looks at my arm balefully and gives it a little pat back. Tim bursts through the door again, having gone back inside, and announces that everyones going to the pub right this moment and he’s not going to take criticism on the subject. Jon sighs and goes to grab his coat. Tim actually scoops him up, seemingly blind to his screeching, and marches in to get the coat (with everyone’s ID in it for whatever reason) and then marches back out, an absolute terror of a man in a hawaiian shirt of all things. “Come on guys!” He exclaims, bringing a kicking and screaming Jon to his car. The rest of us follow, absolutely powerless against Tim in shock and on O2. As soon as everyone’s in the car, Jon calms down enough to bite Tim and then is released into a car seat. 


	5. Buried Hymm

I smile as Tim and Sasha laugh, both pretty tipsy as I look at Jon who is infodumping on herbs and their uses. 

"And nutmeg does serve its purpose in baking but it's actually a good cutter in several dishes." I nod and add, "Yup, and it's really good with several different types of teas!" 

We actually rambled to each other for a long time as we all lost track of the time. Jon and Sasha headed home together as their houses were the closest to each other. Tim and I headed back as I prevented him from drunkenly diving into the river.

Two days later, we kind of just fell into a pattern. Martin has been a great help with filing and when he isn't working he has been stress knitting, with all six arms, at a truly astounding pace. Jon has thrown himself into work but now eats a lot more than usual, blaming condensed muscles and stress. Sasha has pretty much accepted it, aloof as ever. I think on this as I follow up on a few statements, these ones about gardens eating people and trees wrapping up houses. I make a mental note to file them with the rest of the dirt-and-nature statements, humming "Rose Red" by the Mechanisms. I file them away, carrying another box over to our desks 

"Hey Sash. How are you faring on your spooooky statements?" Leaning on her desk, I chance a sweet smile. Sasha laughs and pulls a statement from under my hand, making me lose balance. Falling over I look up to Sasha holding her hand out to me. "Pretty good. Are you ok? I didn't mean to do that. So harsh."

"No biggie!" Grasping it tightly, as if it was some kind of token of hers, I stand up, rubbing the back of my head.

Martin looks over and gives me a knowing smile. I scrunch my nose at him sticking my tongue out. He laughs slightly, going back to his sweater, sparkly green with tulips all over it. 

"Hey. Uh do you wanna go for a little jaunt to Artefact Storage? It might be nice to get some fresh air, see the traumatized storage workers’ faces, you know.” I perform a vaguely communicative gesture, which she seems to sort of get. 

“Ha, sure! Why not.” She gets up, slipping on a windbreaker and joining me as we exit the Archives to head to the other end of the sprawling building. We joke and jab at each other a bit along the way. "Maybe the tooth apple is still there!" I give a hearty laugh as Sasha snickers into her hand as I stumble from walking backwards. "Careful, Tim! You’re going to break your back if you keep up like that!" We continue in this manner, lighting up the halls with our teasing and ribbing along the way. 

When Sasha and I finally grace ol’ Artefact Storage with our presence, we’re greeted by the sight of beleaguered workers attempting to seal a large table,  _ the  _ table, in a padded box. I quickly walk over. "What’s going on, gents? Can I lend a hand?" The two workers grumble, waving me off. Sasha seems uncomfortable, glancing at the table and looking away quickly over and over again, like it hurts to look at. I look at her with scrunched eyebrows, worried. 

I do see the worried look. Usually I would be… delighted, but this time it hurt. Did I grow fond? Of him? I mustn’t. I am not a creature of fondness, only of what I do, which is stealing and lying kill-break-dissolve. And yet… Looking again at that  _ cursed  _ table, I chance a "Hey Tim? Maybe we should head back. They look worried, and busy. Usually that's a bad idea here, to interfere with them when they look like this." Rubbing my hands together in mock worry- well. Maybe not so mock- I attempt to grab his sleeve to redirect him but something makes me just  _ freeze  _ as I am reminded of the echoing memory of _ panpipes and that steady beat of drums  _ playing from when Ancient Greece was my killing ground. It haunts me. Tim obviously hears this too as he also freezes, and the panpipes come to a climax. 

**Author's Note:**

> Choya’s tumblr: @choyaheart, @chollaheart  
> Ghost’s tumblr: @onelonelyghost  
> Emry’s tumblr: @oi-dickhead-elias


End file.
